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2004 revision of poem

Doctor, My Boy Is Cracking Up
By Eric Nakao

Little Alfred came to breakfast,
Seven a.m. on the dot.
And our Alfred was quite hungry,
Hungry as a hippopot.

"Morning, Alfred," said his father,
From his paper, read forever.
"Morning, honey," said his mummy.
"Have some toast, say something clever."

So Alfred took a toast and buttered
It with butter, freshly churned.
"You don't look good, my son, my Alfred,"
Said his mummy dear, concerned.

"How does he look to you, my husband,
Father of my son, my Alfred?
Put down that paper! Look at your honey!
Does he not look a little funny?"

So dad put down his paper dear
And studied Alfred, ear to ear.
"He looks just fine. Just fine, indeed.
Now eat some toast and let me read."

So Alfred took a bite of bread
And the crunch went to his head,
Reverberated round and round
And turned into a cracking sound.

"Did you hear that?" his mummy said,
When Alfred bit into his bread.
"Now take another look, I say,
And see if Alfred's whole today."

So father took another look,
Examined Alfred head to foot.
"He looks the same, a gem, a joy.
Have another toast, my boy."

So Alfred took another toast,
Took a bite and like a ghost,
The cracking sound rose from the dead
And bounced around poor Alfred's head.

"DID YOU HEAR THAT!" his mummy cried.
"Now take a look, that sound belied
That everything's OK with Fred!
Now take another look!" she said.

So father took another peek,
From fore to aft, from cheek to cheek.
"He looks the same, both front and back.
Except, of course, that little crack . . . "

"A crack! The same! Must I explain?
A crack is different! A crack means pain!
Now show me where it is so we
Can find a crackless remedy!"

"It's in his forehead,
Thin, but there.
Above the eyes,
Below the hair,"

"It's true! It's true!
What should I do?
Get out the paste!
Get out the glue!"

"I'm off to Doc. I'll beat the clock.
I'll beat the traffic. What a shock!
I'll see what Doctor has to say
To make my Alfred whole today!"

And when they got there,
Mummy said,
"Doctor, Alfred
Cracked his head!"

"Oh ho, " said Doc. "Allay your fears.
Wipe away those mummy tears.
For I'm a doctor, trained, you see,
To find a crackless remedy.

Let's check the feet. They seem complete.
Ankles, knees. Oh, what a treat!
Thighs the size of alibis,
A rear that speaks of pumpkin pies!"
"Doctor, Doctor, I declare,
Must you spend your time down there?
While ankles, thighs and feet you check,
We need your skills above the neck!"

"Ah ha. I see.
Yes, now I've sighted.
Alfred has
A head divided!"

"Oh, no no no,"
Said mummy pure.
"He has one head,
Of that I'm sure."

"But I am, too!" the doctor cried.
"So watch as Alfred now divides!"
And with a bony finger probe,
He entered Alfred's splitting globe.

"Stop it! Stop!" cried mummy dear.
"You're going to make it worse, I fear.
Stop it! Stop it! Stop, I say!
It's not that bad. We'll go away!"

But good or bad, it was too late
As Alfred fell into his fate.
Or Alfreds fell, if truth be true,
For Alfred Alfred now was two.

Alfred Good and Alfred Bad.
One was happy. One was sad.
But which was which, I cannot say,
For Alfred Alfred split that day.

(note: This is a 2004 revision of the 1997 version of poem.)

poem posted: december 17, 2004
poem update: december 17, 2004
web page update: january 1, 2005



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